Flight of Sire and Dame:  A Retelling
by EosFiction
Summary: What becomes of the Dragons and Dragonelles of the Isle of Ice after the humans have gone?  Will they live on with their young, have they lost everything and must begin again, or will they rise to the fight and triumph?    A new take on the same story.
1. Part One

_Author's Note: I do not own the Age of Fire series—E.E. Knight does. This is a product of my ravings and obsession with dragons and their awesomeness, as well as the fact that I just finished reading_ Dragon Outcast _and_ Dragon Strike.

Flight of Sire and Dame: A Retelling

Part One

It had gone quiet all of a sudden.

Having been huddled in a corner all this time next to one of the furnaces, the man tentatively uncovered his head, his Dragonguard armor clattering softly. There was no sound now, beyond the dull roar of hot air in the furnaces here in the incubation room and the eerie _whoosh_ of cave drafts. One would think he would be relieved, but now that the screams and roars had faded he was more afraid now than he had been prior. Slowly he got to his feet and picked his way around warm dragon eggs to the cave entrance. He and another Dragonguard, Lear, had had the mid-morning watch when the bowels of the caverns erupted in a loud frenzy, and Lear had run out to see what the matter was. That had been some time ago—he did not know how long—and his companion had not come back to tell him what had happened.

He peered left toward the Dragonguards' quarters. Nothing. Only the smell of dragon-flame and burnt flesh greeted him.

Timidly, he called, "Lear? Lear, can you hear me? What has happened?" Still not a sound.

He looked back at the egg cave briefly and made the lonely trek through the main corridor, large enough for the dragons to alight and make their way to their perches deep inside the mountain. More than once he lurched toward a crevasse, retching, as body after body greeted him the closer he got to the entrance. Some had been crushed by dragons until they were pulpy messes, with few substantial—and recognizable—bits of flesh left. Others had been cleaved in half by tooth and claw, and still others were nothing but dry husks. So twisted were they that he was oddly reminded of dried herbs and beans used for cooking, darkened by the process. And still they smoldered and smoked as he passed.

"Lear?" he called again. He dare not speak much louder than a hoarse whisper, lest he arouse the attention of a wary dragon. "Lear, where have you gone?"

He stifled a cry when something groaned nearby, throwing himself against the entrance wall. He could see nothing, as the wall formed a small mass of rocks and stalagmites where it joined the ledge. He gathered himself and edges his way around the rocks and into the sunlight.

"Lear!"

His fellow Dragonguard held the lifeless body of one of the cart-women across his lap, one he had been keen on, weeping quietly. Her torso had been ripped open from shoulder to navel by claws. She stared at the cruelly blue sky, face still contorted in agony.

"Lear! _Lear!_" he hissed, grabbing the other man by the arm and shaking him. "Lear, take hold of your wits!" That seemed to snap the other man to his senses. He scrambled away from the dead girl and seized him by the wrist.

"We must do it! We must, we must, we must...!" His already firm grip clamped harder on his wrist in hysteria. "We have to do it, Hart! We have our duty—"

"What are you talking about, Lear?" The man had the pallor of wax and babbled like a lunatic.

Lear led him quickly to the armory, near the Guards' quarters. Barrels lining one side of the dimly-lit cavern held the catch-poles used to pinion the dragonelles when eggs were collected, as well as venom-blades on long poles should they still prove too much. On the other side, also in barrels, were poison daggers the Guards carried on their person. Lear armed himself with extra blades, clipping some around his waist and carrying more in his hands. "Hurry, hurry! Take as many as you can and come with me!"

"But, Lear, what are we doing with—"

"_There's no time!_ Do as I say!" He ran from the cavern with his load and was gone. Hart could not fathom why they would need the poison daggers now. Had he overheard the dragons planning something and planned to catch them unawares? He took two daggers from the barrel and left to look for his comrade again.

"Where has he gone _now?"_ A crackle echoed along the greater cave and he ran back to the incubation cavern. He found Lear hunched over the eggs, as if inspecting them as they had before. "What—" The other man whirled around to fully face him. A broken dagger was in his hand, dripping both with Starlight's venom and a thick, viscous fluid, which he soon realized to be on the floor and dripping from an upended egg. "What are you _doing?"_

"Come along, Hart! We must hurry!" He dropped the broken dagger and took another. He used the sharp blade to break the shell of the next hapless egg, producing a slow dribble of egg-white from the hole. Then he plunged his entire arm into the shell and striking the dragon within, breaking the blade and releasing the venom. Almost instantly the egg began to rock violently on its brace as he moved to the next one, followed by an explosion of egg-white and yolk and hatchling, explaining the loud crackle he had heard. Already the young was large enough to destroy its egg, thrashing as it was from the venom, and toppled into a wet heap on the floor, still twitching as two more eggs were breached. He felt his throat tightening in a wave of nausea again, at both the sight of the dead dragons and at Lear's quick efficiency at the task.

"Lear, stop this!" he rasped. Now a fourth hatchling fell to the ground, a rather large blue. What a fine warrior he might have made.

"No!" he snapped, attacking a fifth and sixth egg. "This was the Master's plan should anything go wrong!"

Down went the seventh egg. "He would not want _this!"_

And the eighth. "You're a _fool_, Hart! We cannot let these eggs fall to their dames!" The ninth and tenth eggs fell almost at the same time under a double-handed attack. "We must carry out our tasks before we are discovered, for the Master!"

"Better to find the Master and help him raise _these_ eggs than this! The Isle is _theirs!_ Let us run now and stage a counterattack later with the Master's help—"

"_NO!"_ Breaking poison daggers was taking too long, so he resorted to simply smashing the eggs open. None of the hatchlings were strong enough to survive in open air as yet and would perish within minutes. "We must—"

"We'll be killed if we do this!"

"_Is_ that all you care about? The Master had a dream and it has been dashed. We cannot let it be completely ruined because a rogue beast was able to sway the minds of our own!" He swore savagely and lashed out at another group of eggs.

"This is _lunacy!"_ He turned to leave and seek mercy from any dragon about, even an angry dragonelle. Perhaps he could secure his safety by leading them to Lear, and helping them take their eggs back.

He froze. The realization that he was being watched jolted through him like lightning. Without really looking up he saw the glow of several pairs of red, angry dragon eyes. "Lear...?"

"Do not trouble me with your feeble attempts to stop me, Hart!" he snapped from the cavern. By now he had smashed a score of eggs or thereabouts.

"But...but, Lear, it is no use!" he replied warningly. "We are discovered!"

Finally Lear stopped what he was doing and looked at Hart, then into the greater cave outside. Five angry drakka lined the corridor, glaring at them. Blast their instincts! Drakka were never taught hunting like their brothers, and yet they crept up on them like lionesses! "How did you all escape?" He held up his hand. "No matter. I suppose you will go seek the adult females to kill me? Do as you will! But I assure you that I will finish my work!" He recognized the drakka now. Three had gotten their cages off their heads, and he had to admit that Ranashe, Taraya, and Habthea snarled as fiercely as a dragon in battle. The other two, Selianna and Dapheelia, had to settle for waving their tales and growling.

"Lear, _stop this!"_

"_Fie on you!"_ With that, he kicked another egg open. The uncaged drakka needed no goading and seized upon him, tearing him to bits as he lived.

"_An arm gone for killing Nereeza!"_ Ranashe cried.

"_A leg for Ktarata!"_ added Habthea.

"_And your gut for all the others!"_ Taraya roared, digging into him with her _saa_.

Hart watched the entire spectacle, trembling, and then looked at Selianna and Dapheelia sidelong. "I beg," he said, "let me live! I can help the dragonelles get their eggs back! Lear has not destroyed _all_ of them!" One of the three behind him belched as she gorged on his comrade's body. _"I beg you!"_

The red eyes above the cages were unmoving.

* * *

><p>Meanwhile, the surviving dragonelles of the brooding cave (minus Natasatch, as she was with AuRon) were gathered around the hatchling cave. It was wide enough for dragons like AuRon to see into, but only near-fledged drakes could actually fit through the entrance, as they did not have the span or the muscle on them to hinder their movements. Four drakes not quite old enough to leave this cavern, wings not begun to rise, hunched stiffly in front of their terrified younger siblings of both genders. They looked like two cats meeting in the night, when one does not fall into full fighting stance but half-squats, tail flashing irritably, yowling at an unwanted companion in warning. They growled softly, <em>griffs<em> only partly lowered, hovering somewhere between protectiveness and anxiety at the sight of the colossal females.

"How brave you are, young ones," Saima was saying; her voice was muffled from the cage still clamped around her mouth. "But there is no need for fear."

"What she says is true," said another dragonelle named Eszreethene. She lowered her head toward the hatchlings—about the only part of her that would fit—to try and comfort them, but the sight of her great spade-shaped head and the cage fastened to it frightened them, being so close all of a sudden. They shrieked timidly and fell behind their older siblings. A young gold needed no other hint and hissed and spat at the dragonelle.

"What cheek!" Ouistrela growled.

"Enough, Ouisa," Saima said. "It is not of his doing. The Wyrmmaster brought them to this."

"_Those monsters!"_ cried a fourth dragonelle. "They've robbed us of our lives!"

"Easy, Hatheela," said another next to her.

"How can I be, Beajara, and how can you say such a thing? This is a travesty! Our own young fear us!"

"Now, everyone calm down," said another from further up the corridor. "Hysteria will only give them cause to fear us."

At that moment, two drakka bustled up to them, covered in blood and gristle about the claws and mouth. "We have news of your eggs!"

Saima turned to them. "What is it, girls?"

The same golden drake addressed the one closer to him. "What are you and Habthea doing, Taraya? You mustn't speak to them after what has taken place!"

"Stow it, Solwing! You would not be so quick to defend the humans if you had the view of the breeding cave _we_ had!" she countered.

"But they have killed so many of our caretakers!" replied a young red.

"And our mothers have suffered more at the hands of our _'caretakers!'"_

"One of them was destroying the eggs in the incubation room!" Habthea added.

"_WHAT?"_ the dragonelles gasped, half-rearing in alarm.

"It's true, but we took care of him where he stood, just like you took care of Eliam and the others!" said Taraya. The drakka had heard everything in the breeding cave and staged a rebellion of their own, bashing their cages into the humans and Guards in the cave with them and striking others down with tail-swipes. Few had escaped the chains that tethered them to the wall, but they were able to remove some of their friends' cages so they could use their flame.

"Destroyed eggs?" the red asked incredulously. "But, that cannot be! The Dragonguard took such care of us!"

"They cared for _you!_ When we left the hatchling cavern we were privy to the sight and sound of our lives as dragonelles! But you will find out about _that_ soon enough!" The two drakka pushed past the drakes and spoke with the younger hatchlings. Like the adults, they were able to use mind-speech, and rather than using words, they explained the dragonelles outside were no threat to them and were to be trusted. To the drakes they used mind-pictures and showed them the gory truth of life in the breeding cavern (or at least some of it). They cowered away, shivering.

"This is only the first lesson, drakes," Ouistrela muttered.

Hatheela spoke next. "Your name is Taraya, yes?"

The drakka beamed. "Yes."

"Take us to the egg cavern."

"All right." She led the way along the corridor; Habthea drove the four drakes ahead of her, behind Taraya, with nips to _saa_ and tails. The adults followed behind, and the hatchlings walked among them, sticking close and keeping quiet. Even the males were too timid to dart about, as they normally would.

"Some of the eggs were left intact, you say?" Beajara was asking.

"Yes," replied Taraya. "He had already destroyed quite a few when we arrived, though. Ranashe, Selianna, and Dapheelia are guarding a friend of his right now."

"You left him _alive?"_ Ouistrela roared.

"He says he can help you get your eggs back."

"Bah!"

They reached the cavern; having heard their approach, Hart ran out of the cavern and lay prone before the dragonelles. "Mercy! Spare me long enough to right the wrong done to you, I beg!"

"_Do_ stop blubbering, human!" Eszreethene snapped. "Who is this man, Taraya?"

Ranashe answered for her. "His name is Hart. He had the watch over the eggs when Lord NooShoahk began the rebellion."

And Dapheelia: "We're sorry, Taraya. We tried to stop him when he realized you were coming—"

"No need for that, girls," the same dragonelle had who called for calm said, a grand female named Zeedasmene. Even with the cage she was still elegant, head held high on her long neck. She stepped past the others carefully in the cramped space, sniffing at Hart lividly. "We can deal with him later." She stepped further forward and peered into the cavern. The entrance here was only fit for a human and a line of obedient freshly-hatched dragons, making their way to the cavern they had just left. She peered inside and stiffened. "...O, Susiron above, no...!"

"Zeeda, what is it?" Epinonia asked. She and the nearest dragonelles tried to press closer. Hatheela, of smaller build than the others, managed to squeeze past and joined the larger female; she immediately regretted it and withdrew.

"Horrors! _Horrors!_" she cried.

"Theela, calm yourself!" Beajara said once again.

"What do you see?" added Saima.

Quivering badly, Zeedasmene replied, "The eggs have been smashed open...and young are _everywhere!"_ The others went still, with the exception of Hatheela, who whimpered miserably. The drakes could hardly believe their ears and rushed to the cavern entrance to see for themselves.

"No!" the gold named Solwing gasped.

"But, the Dragonguard said they would _never_ harm egg nor hatchling! They let us see how they tended the eggs!" the red added.

The blue among them shuddered. "They have filled us with _lies!"_

The last of the four drakes, a bronze, found he could just fit through the entrance and padded inside. He sniffed the pools of congealed egg-white and dead hatchlings. He had already recognized the corpse as that of Lear. He had been such a steady-minded human, he recalled. What had driven him to such an act?

"What _are_ you doing, Firelash?" the blue hissed.

He looked back. "Do you not smell it?"

"Smell what?" He and the others perked up.

"Come here." He was joined by the blue in a moment. "Those eggs over there do not have it, but these here—"

"Yes, yes, you are right. They smell...metallic...or acidic, like _foua_, but sharper." He saw a broken dagger lying on the ground near a contorted hatchling and made to investigate it. "This smells the same—"

Saima saw what it was in front of him. _"No,_ drake! That will kill you where you stand!" Both he and Firelash gave short grunts in alarm and backed away.

Beajara poked her head through the throng of dragonelles to see. "Why, there's a _hoard_ of those daggers! They're the ones the Dragonguard used for protection!"

Ouistrela rounded on Hart. _"You did this!"_

The man fell to his knees weeping. "Not I! It was Lear, the dead man you see within! He ran from the armory with the daggers and was emptying the contents of the vial into the eggs when I arrived!"

"As if _you_ didn't help him!"

"Truly, I did not!" he sobbed.

"It is true," Selianna said. "When Taraya brought us here Hart was trying to convince Lear to stop. He never once picked up a dagger or kicked open a shell."

"Is _that_ so?" Eszreethene muttered.

"Oh, yes," sniffed Hart, "and, as I said to the drakka and to you, I-I would be happy to return the unharmed eggs."

"And how would you go about it?"

"I-If I may, there is a book, over there—" He pointed to a small stone podium in one corner of the cavern. "—and it had all of our records in it."

"Records?"

"Y-Yes." The man shuffled over to the book and took it from the podium. "Whenever new eggs were brought to us, we were told to record which dragonelle laid them and by whose seed."

"Did you indeed?" Saima snarled.

He flinched. "Yes, and with a little time I could sort this out and return the eggs to each of you."

Epinonia snorted. "And what reasons have we to trust you? You might have other ways to sabotage the eggs!"

"Certainly not, dragonelle! I assure you I would not do such a thing! I cannot even suffocate the young!" He gestured toward the intact eggs. "See here; we mark where the top of the egg is to prevent such an event." He flinched again when one or more of the dragonelles growled. He could not be sure when they would kill him, eggs or no eggs.

One of those behind him shrieked and set the others into a panic.

"_What was that? Who has been hurt?"_

"_Emallagnia, take the hatchlings back to the—"_

"_Taraya!"_

The drakka had been pounced upon by a surviving Guard. She roared and spat and bucked her way up to and out of the main corridor, trying desperately to crush her attacker against the rocks. Another leapt from a crevasse and joined the melee. Habthea and Ranashe sidled alongside, trying to angle for a pounce of their own or a shot of flame.

"Fight them, Taraya!" They were seized, too.

"No, not Ranashe!"

"Habthea, that one has a dagger!" The four drakes dragon-dashed after them when they heard that, leaving the dragonelles to guard the hatchlings.

One long, piercing scream echoed throughout the cave as the venom took hold of Habthea. Accelerated by her struggling, the venom coursed through her body faster. She spasmed violently. She involuntarily loosed her flames and killed one man. Ranashe turned the other into a pyre, as well, spinning in her battle against her own attackers, before she, too, was stabbed and fell victim to Starlight's curse.

"Taraya, lead them outside where you have room to fight!" Solwing called as his friends fell on the surviving Guards.

In the corridor, Emallagnia roared and bowled past the other dragonelles. Four other Guards clung to her back, and would have done her in had she not the benefit of size and wings to delay them. Heeding the drake's advice, she made for the main entrance to the cave. Beajara whipped around and knocked two more Guards bringing up the rear with her tail. "It was a ruse! To the outside, hurry!" She urged the hatchlings to follow the other adults and covered them, backing out of the corridor, ready to loose flame if any should try another sneak-attack.

Ouistrela stayed to deal with Hart. _"Assassin!_ You would kill us before our hatchlings' eyes!" She took him up in her jaws, armor and all, and bit down, cutting him in half. She dropped the carcass and ground it against the cave floor.

"Come, Ouisa!" Beajara called. _Foua_ pulsing, she followed.

What greeted her was chaos, and not the sort of the hatchling cave.

The Dragonguard had managed to reconvene and remain hidden in the trees surrounding the entrance of the compound, despite grown dragons overhead and young ones searching the forest floor, and mounted a counterattack. They had sent a few among them into the cave through other, smaller tunnels built for this very purpose, knowing those dragons inside were distracted and unprotected by the others.

Unable to breathe fire for their cages, Saima, Zeedasmene, and Eszreethene had herded the hatchlings inside a loose ring they had formed with their bodies. Turned slightly to the side and tails lashing, they all faced on direction like a wagon-wheel, so they could defend each other as well as themselves, and from there stared down a small detachment of Guards surrounding them. Already they had been cut by normal blades and bled profusely. In front of them lay dead or wounded drakka, also still caged. Epinonia and Hatheela were leading the drakes against another detachment in retreat. The caged dragonelles were seized at the same time and roared, rearing up to try to throw their attackers, and when that did no work, ran headlong into the waiting men, rolling and thrashing wildly to kill as many as possible.

Ouistrela lunged for the men climbing over Eszreethene. She knocked one away from the dragonelle's neck-hearts with a vicious tail-swipe. _"Eszree, duck your head!"_ She unleashed her flame on more men who had scaled her back. Two ducked under her stomach; she saw them and kicked them away. "Are you all right, Eszree?"

"Never mind me! They've—"

Emallagnia screamed in agony from her position at the very edge of the forest. One of the men had cut her badly across the chest, just over her breastbone. Bleeding heavily, she turned a tight circle and tried to strike back.

"Agnia, on your back!"

"He has a poison dagger!"

"_Emallagnia!"_

A great roar floated down from the sky and a streak of blue flashed past Ouistrela and Eszreethene. The humans crawling on the dragonelle hardly had time to consider cowering before they were blasted to pieces by an airborne tail-swipe. It was a grand fighter named Wavebreak. He had heard the commotion while he had been hunting for humans overhead and dived on his prey when he saw what the matter was. He turned a tight circle, flapping like a small bird and kicking up dust, and landed beside the stricken female, heaving for breath.

"I take it you all believed we would be so distracted as to neglect the dragonelles!" he roared. As he spoke, a white named Frostcrest, his clutch-mate, and a gold named Suntail descended upon the scene, flanking him. Two reds aided the other dragonelles if need be, while two bronzes defended Zeedasmene and Saima. "Where are the rest of your comrades?"

"Spare us, Wavebreak!"

"_Where are they?"_

"There are no others!" cried the most senior of the men before him.

"_Liars!"_ Ouistrela bellowed. "You had that Hart-character bring us to the egg cavern so you could surprise us! Now three young drakka lay dead from poison and dragonelles bleeding!"

"And for what?" added Epinonia. "Your Lear destroyed our eggs! We cannot have _that_ for recompense!"

"Destroyed eggs?" asked one of the reds, appalled.

"Yes," said Hatheela. "Lear emptied poison into them!"

"Kill them, Wavebreak! The rest, too!"

"_Be easy,_ Wrathflame," said the gold. How appropriately his name fit his personality.

"I'm _with_ him!" replied the other red.

"You aren't helping, Lavawhip!"

"I say to you _again,"_ continued Wavebreak, ignoring them, "tell me where your comrades are. I _know_ there are escape tunnels carved into the mountains—that is how you began this little ambush, I gather. _Tell me!"_

"There are no others," the senior Guard repeated. "I assure you. All assembled here are those who remain."

"Then you will stay here long enough to help us here, and then you will leave with the others."

"Yes, of course, Wavebreak."

The blue stamped the ground with his _sii_ so hard the men rose into the air and landed in a heap. _"You do not acknowledge that name!"_ The other dragons were puzzled. His brother Frostcrest the White stepped forward.

"What do you mean?"

"Henceforth I am to be addressed as EnSeele, son of EnMar, as is proper." He looked at his brother sadly. "Is it not?"

The white drooped a little. "I think so."

Eszreethene padded over to Emallagnia. "How is the wound?"

The other female looked up from licking it clean. "All well. He used a normal sword."

Hearing that, EnSeele the Blue snapped, "The cages: remove them from the females' heads, too—"

"Y-Yes, right away," said the Guardsman.

"_After_ you lay down your weapons."


	2. Part Two

_I do not own the Age of Fire series—E.E. Knight does._

Flight of Sire and Dame: A Retelling

Part Two

"Do you think you can fit down that corridor?" AuRon the Grey rasped, still sick with pain from his encounter with Starlight.

The pair of drakka among them looked up at him eagerly. "Oh, yes, Lord AuRon," they said, "we can do it."

"Off you go, then." He watched them scamper away down the corridor. They deserved the honor of rifling through Wrimere the Wyrmmaster's ledgers; he had been told all about their role during the counterattack earlier, and after they had lost Taraya, Ranashe, and Habthea, they could at least say they had helped to avenge their friends and spare their siblings any more torture.

Flanking him at the entrance of the corridor, just off of the landing cave, were Shadowcatch and Black and the two bronzes, Sharpclaw and Hawkhit. While the dragonelles had been looking for their hatchlings and speaking to Hart, they and some of the other males had been defending the Isle from loyal dragons and their riders. They had found Varl on their way back to the compound, for which he was grateful, and even now the human was leading the remaining Guards in disposing of dead hatchlings and dragons in the caverns. Natasatch had decided to go with him, as a measure of safety, in the event some of the other females became incensed with his presence near their eggs.

"We've found the ledgers, Lord AuRon!" one of them called. Varl had managed to get the Guards to admit where the Wyrmmaster kept all of his notes. The man must have foreseen an event like this. His tomes had been moved from his own living quarters to a small cavern at the end of a long, narrow, and winding tunnel. A human could barely fit, even a withered old man like Wrimere, and by AuRon's reckoning could only allow a small child or woman, or the very tip of a grown dragon's tail past the walls. The two drakka, however, were long and lean—like his sister Jizara, Spirits bless her—and with their smooth scale and sound _sii _and _saa _could slip through the passage easily.

"Very good, girls," AuRon called back. "Bring them here." Varl had said everything the Wyrmmaster had observed, beginning with his encounter with Revenan's parents, was in those volumes. He desperately wanted them so they could be burned and forgotten.

One scurried back, and she looked miserable. Sharpclaw asked gently, "What is the matter, Selianna?"

"Dapheelia and I are not strong enough to lift the books. They're very thick and heavy. We even tried to each lift an end and move one at a time, but they were still too heavy."

"Really?"

"They're the large books hominids use in...in...the ceremonies they have when they talk about their gods and all..."

"Sermons," Hawkhit offered.

"Yes, that's it! They're big, leather-bound books of that size, and there are several of them," she replied, brightening a bit.

"No wonder you couldn't lift them," AuRon said. "I wonder how hominids manage with manuscripts like those, even if they aren't decorated."

"Decorated?"

"Yes. I've seen ceremonial books that are encrusted with jewels and metalwork—if a drakka struggles with plain leather-bound books, I cannot even imagine how they tote special ones around!" (Selianna's mouth watered at the thought of jewels.)

"Hmm," Hawkhit mused. "Wait here a moment."

"Where are you going?" asked Shadowcatch.

"I will have some of the other young ones to help them, or maybe drum up some help from the Dragonguard." He moved off, limping on his wounded left _saa_. Those males who were still loyal to the Wyrmmaster's cause had not backed down easily, which was not unexpected, and the large bronze had faced Shieldwall in one such fight. Riderless and fighting on instinct, the copper had lost to Hawkhit, but not before tearing his leg open with his teeth.

Sharpclaw addressed the young female. "Were you able to read anything in the books, like a title on the fronts or sides of them?"

She drooped sadly. "No. I do not know how to read."

"I see," he murmured. "Well, no matter, we'll soon sort through them."

AuRon was appalled—he had seen the Guards reading to young hatchlings in the cave when the Wyrmmaster had given him a private tour! How was that possible?

The bronze read his mood. _The storybooks we knew in our youth are written in a human language we hardly understand,_ he thought.

_What?_

_It is the same hand used by the generals and their human soldiers in the field, as well for messages the Wyrmmaster wrote for his vassals when he made a decision._

_You mean the pins they had me carry?_

Sharpclaw nodded, as Shadowcatch and Selianna stared between them. _I was a courier for a time, as were several others. I knew enough to read the name of the person for whom the message was intended, and where they were located in Wrimere's empire, but no more. I think everything they presented to us was written in a hand they invented, so we would not become wise to their plans. 'Kept us dumb as an herbivore and at_ sii's _length, I suppose, only able to recognize a word here or there. You are more educated than us, in that regard, and you could probably figure out their system._

_So, even you could not read his books?_

_Probably not, and I was a fighter, and I doubt the breeders (excluding you) know more. As for the females..._

"I understand," AuRon said aloud. If a grown male could not figure out what had been written on parchment, after years of exposure as warriors and messengers, the females were much worse off.

Shadowcatch chimed in. _Had I ever gotten a hint of what the _drakka _were privy to, there would not have been any war, Grey._ He shook himself. _Lot of _pogt, _all of them._

_None_ of the dragons had known the full extent of what the dragonelles were forced to endure. They had had their natural male frustration channeled into a week of free use of fertile females and taken away after each mating. Never had they witnessed the egg collection as AuRon had—why bother, if they were not wild-born and in no need of convincing that the process was necessary—and never had they seen a female butchered. When they had loosed their first flame, they were taken from the hatchling cave and given their own near the castrated fighters' cavern to continue their military training, while the drakka were taken to the chamber next to the dragonelles' to continue their _own_.

Hawkhit returned with the four drakes from the hatchling cave. They were about the same age as Dapheelia and Selianna and not much larger in size. "Dapheelia, are you there?"

"Yes, lord!" was the reply.

"Come here for a moment." She poked her head out of the entrance to the tunnel; he turned to the drakes. "See if you can fit in the tunnel and follow her to the chamber where the books are kept, and then help her and Selianna here bring them out." After a few minutes, with much shifting and wriggling, the drakes were on their way down the tunnel to the archive; it took longer to bring the books out. Three youngsters carried the first volume on their backs, trying to keep it balanced as they walked, and had to change tactics to actually give the books to the adults, letting them slip to the ground and manipulating them that way. They beamed with no small amount of pride when they had moved a total of three large books.

The first volume was a record of all the Wyrmmasters' dragons and their lineages, and in saying that, AuRon realized, he merely meant a quick note of each hatchling's sire and dame.

_If_ they were known.

I_f_ the traders _cared_ to know.

It also noted the status of each male in his army and each female in his breeding cave, and when their statuses changed. He saw the name of the gold, Ramshard, listed there, in the Wyrmmaster's neat handwriting.

"_Ramshard - __Breeder__ - DD,"_ it read.

"What does that mark mean?" AuRon asked no one in particular.

"Which mark?" asked Shadowcatch.

"This one, 'DD,'" he replied, pointing with a claw. He knew the letters well enough, but he could not imagine what "DD" represented.

"I do not know," Sharpclaw replied.

"Nor I," Hawkhit and Shadowcatch added.

"Is this written in that code you spoke of?"

"No," replied Sharpclaw, tipping his head. "But I do not recognize it at all from my days as a courier. Perhaps the Wyrmmaster's native tongue? I remember him saying that he did not grow up in this area."

"I know what it means," the golden drake named Solwing said.

"Do you?"

"Yes. I overheard the men speaking about this ledger once. It means the dragon was 'discharged' from duty and is dead." He leaned a little closer. "Yes, I am sure of it. 'Discharged—Dead.'"

"DD" appeared next to many of the dragonelles' names; Nereeza's was the most recent.

The second volume, not quite so thick as the others but lengthy anyway, was filled with observations about business matters related to the surrounding area—food acquisition, rations for the dragons, names of merchants, and the like—of which the Wyrmmaster wrote in great detail. The third volume was his notes on dragons, some of which, as he himself had written, had been copied from the books he had read in his youth. A good portion of it, however, was devoted to his studies of Revenan and subsequent dragons. One particular passage made AuRon's _foua_ pulse.

"What is it, Grey?" Shadowcatch asked, having heard his growl.

"This part here," AuRon replied, pointing with his claw.

"How does it read?" asked Hawkhit.

"_'One of the most worrisome obstacles for dragons and dragonelles is the weakness of the latter following the laying of eggs,'_" he quoted. "_'Gestation lasts for one month, during which time as many as six hard-shelled eggs are formed within the mother's body. As with human mothers, females lose vital minerals during gestation to the forming young and eggs that house them. They must be sure to eat more bountiful meals to compensate for this loss, a near impossible task for wild dragons. Then, the mother is put under considerable stress when clutching, for, although they are four-legged and do not have to pass large offspring through a small space like hominids, the event is by no means a comfortable one_. Then _the mother must be awake at all times while the young incubate in their eggs and her mate is away hunting for her. He is significantly more exhausted in his own right, make no mistake, but he has more opportunity for rest than his mate while hunting, perhaps while he waits for a herd of sheep or cattle to move closer to him for an ambush over the course of the day; at least, that is, until his hatchlings emerge from their shells. The male can be gone for days hunting for himself, his mate, _and _his demanding brood._

_'And all the while, the female must remain as alert as possible and on guard, so add that to her already weakened state and she is almost as vulnerable and her fireless, flightless young. It is only when the hatchlings are strong enough to leave their cave for open country that the parents truly begin to recover, for by that time the drakes and drakka have enough instinct and learned hunting skills to bring down small prey. The parents rebuild their strength in preparation for the next mating and, hopefully, the next clutch of eggs._

_'I had noticed that, in the case of Revenan's parents, they did not seem nearly so malnourished when I provided sheep and cattle for them, especially for his mother, and he and his own mate fared better than that. By keeping more and more females for Revenan, I realized that, by keeping them on a healthy diet, they did not need a year or two to become receptive again after their hatchlings loosed their first flame. The time was even more reduced if the mother lost her clutch immediately after laying to the elements or attack, and in fact they became receptive within weeks rather than months, again kept well-fed.'_"

AuRon gnashed his teeth angrily at that last sentence. To think that this, this..._monster_, to quote Hatheela, had whittle dragon-kind to such detail—

"Is that all true, AuRon?" Sharpclaw asked quietly.

He looked at him; he and all the others looked as though they had been struck. "How's that?"

"Are wild dragons so strained as that?"

He thought of Mother. "No! I am faint with hunger...!" she had said.

He nodded grimly. "They are."

Hawkhit shuddered miserably. "By the Spirits, what horrors did _our_ parents suffer?"

"You do not remember them, or when you were taken?"

"Myself? Some of it, but others were captured even younger than a few months, or even in the shell."

"I remember Wavebreak telling me that he and his brother were a bit older when they came here," said Sharpclaw. "It was around the time their father would have driven them out anyway, as I recall. They had come for Frostcrest and his sister, but he had come forward and offered himself in exchange for the female, even though he was not the clutch-winner."

"Suntail was around that age, as well, I think—" added Hawkhit.

"Fire and dire, I'm for the outside after all this!" said Shadowcatch, ambling out of the cavern.

"Well, I daresay I agree with him. Let's bring the books to Varl—we don't need them anymore, I think."

"Just a moment," said Firelash. "There was one more book within." He shuffled back down the corridor, and returned a moment later with a smaller, thinner volume in his teeth. "A' 'eady," he muttered.

"Off we go, then."

"Perhaps we can find the location of the Wyrmmaster's coin stores, as well. We will all need it by day's end, I think." They made their way outside, hearing voices from deep within the compound as they passed. The dragonelles were still directing the Guards in the egg cave, it appeared.

* * *

><p>They found Varl tending to the wounded dragons in front of the entrance to the compound. Lavawhip and Wrathflame were inspecting the salves that had been brushed onto deep gashes in their chests and <em>sii<em>. Varl himself and two Guards he had taken on as assistants were applying the salve to Emallagnia's wound, while Ouistrela and Epinonia stood near. Frostcrest and several drakes and drakka waited quietly for their turn.

"Now you two stop sniffing at that salve," Varl was saying to the reds. "It has to stay on to stop the bleeding and numb the pain." Emallagnia flinched when he passed over a particularly deep part of her wound. "I'm sorry, dragonelle, but I must cover everything if I am to stitch this closed."

The female clenched her jaws. "I am all right."

Wrathflame lowered his head towards her and flicked his tongue, tasting the air near her, but did not take one step forward. "How do you feel, truly?"

The dragonelle hesitated uncertainly. "Ah, well enough, I suppose."

He _prummed_ a little. "Good."

"Such overwhelming concern he shows," Ouistrela groused.

"Ouisa," Epinonia growled warningly.

"Where is Alhala?" Dapheelia asked, looking around.

"She's gone back into the breeding cave with Beajara to clutch, dear. She was in the middle of it when the egg collectors came, I'm afraid. I hope she is not too distressed."

"Let us go see, Enia," Ouistrela said. She passed by the group of males, snorting at AuRon, head held stiffly on her neck. Epinonia _prummed_ at her wounded friend, gave the slightest pause in front of the males, and followed the other dragonelle. Having become new dragon-dames just this morning, the ones whose clutches were set to be collected and the trigger for the rebellion, they walked a little stiffly, no doubt sore about the hindquarters.

"There you are," Varl said to Emallagnia. "That will numb the pain completely in a few minutes, and then I'll close it."

"All right," she replied. "For a painkiller, this stings, though."

"That will pass in a few seconds," Wrathflame said. "It always goes on rather viciously, but it really does help."

"Does it? You do not grow used to it?" Odd that a fighter like him would not be immune from the pain.

"One never really does, and it always hurts more in a sensitive muscle, like that of your chest or inner _saa."_

Emallagnia looked him over; he would know, she decided, as the thinner skin on the inside of his right _saa_ had grown back oddly after some injury or other had healed. Lavawhip followed her gaze and chuckled. "Oh, that isn't from the salve; he got that when some dwarfs set fire to a trail of chemicals they had laid as a trap. They sprayed some of the liquid on him just before that for good measure."

"Of course," said Varl, "this salve would not work on an injury like that. The worry would be nerve damage from the flames and infection, never mind the pain. Now, Frostcrest let us see to that forelimb."

Young Firelash stiffened and sniffed their air as the fighter held his bleeding _sii_ out for the human to check. Blood, and not of any of the dragons around him.

"What is it?" his friend the blue asked. "Has your keen nose honed-in on something again?"

"How could it," added Solwing, "with all this salve about?"

"It has, easily," the bronze replied pointedly. "It—"

A twig snapped.

"_Frostcrest, behind you!"_ AuRon roared.

Standing at the edge of the trees, bleeding badly from his broken wing-joint and frothing at the mouth, was a furious and desperate silver dragon. His undersized body shook from both anger and pain, and his gaze settled on the wounded white dragon.

Starlight had come back.

Wrathflame and Lavawhip immediately took up protective stations around Emallagnia and the two Guards, even as the dragonelle backed away. The drakes and drakka who stood next to Frostcrest shrieked in alarm and whirled around, dancing on nervous _sii_ and _saa_, ready to loose flame. AuRon and the other males tensed and fell into fighting stances.

With enough strength that defied his bedraggled state, the venomous silver leapt up from a ditch in the tree line, fangs bared and ready to clamp on the white's unarmored neck. He landed, ripping new gashes in the fighter's flesh with his claws. Frostcrest reared up on his hind legs to throw him, but to no avail; even with all his thrashing Starlight held fast and bit at his face and shoulders. The drakes and drakka scattered. Hawkhit roared with fury, took to the air, and made a very low pass at the silver with claws unsheathed. That did not help either, and it was another silver named Seecrest who finally knocked the venomer away with a tail-swipe to the broken wing-joint. Starlight screamed and released his hold on the white, turning a circle and hissing at the other dragons.

Wavebreak, who had been standing with Seecrest, rushed over to his clutch-mate and inspected his new wounds. "Are you all right, brother? Eliam said he could venom when he chose."

"Yes; he didn't poison me," the white replied through clenched teeth. "Claws and saws, he cut me to the bone, though!" His brother _prummed_ and licked at a cut above his eye-ridge. AuRon stood with them, faint from his _first_ fight with the venomer.

"Was the Grey not enough for you, Starlight?" Shadowcatch bellowed. "You would kill the rest of _us_, too?"

"Yes," Starlight wheezed, "but...none more so...than the _Grey...Vex!"_

AuRon started; Wistala had thought the same of him, he knew (she and Jizara did not know he over-thought them sometimes). It had been the result of sibling animosity then, but now nothing but hatred fueled those words.

"Traitor and hater, I thought your pomposity was your worst feature!"

Starlight's answer was a geyser of flame directed at the black's face. He lashed out blindly with any weapon at his disposal as the other males backed away. He clamped down on Firelash's tail, and this time he _did _release his venom. As the bronze drake convulsed violently, the other drakes pounced on the silver's head, tearing at his eyes and _griff _and ignoring the cries of the drakka. Harshgale was hit hard across the face with his remaining wing and nearly knocked senseless. Starlight struck Lavawhip with his tail as the red angled for his own leap, and in twisting and thrashing hit Harshgale with his wing again and bit Solwing in the _saa_ when he lost his footing and came too close.

"Clear away, all of you!" Sharpclaw cried. They did as instructed and rejoined the drakka, while Starlight hugged the ground and heaved for breath, looking warily at the adult males surrounding him. Solwing's body still twitched weakly next to him.

Shadowcatch and Sharpclaw blanketed the venomer with dragon-flame, which at their distance did not so much kill him as it distracted and further enraged him, if that were possible. Stalking like a worthy dragonelle in her prime, Hawkhit and Seecrest used the other males' fire as a cover and worked their way behind the silver and pounced, one pinning his tail and the other biting at his remaining wing. Wavebreak jumped on his back and prevented his _saa_ from gaining purchase on the ground. Lavawhip joined the fray and, with his added weight, flipped Starlight onto his side.

"Beware his head, Lavawhip!" Wavebreak said. The red slammed his foreleg over Starlight's snout, braving liquid fire bubbling from his mouth, and with a roar bit into his neck, crushing his windpipe as a lion would an antelope's on the plains. (The Guards had taught them about other predators—who knew their lessons would actually help them?) The other males piled onto the silver's body to keep him from striking back, and waited as he slowly suffocated.

"You...idiots!" Starlight gasped weakly, liquid fire replaced by blood seeping through his teeth. _"Idiots,_ I...tell you!"

With that, the Silver Terror took his last breath. The males released the body slowly, almost reluctantly, panting from the effort of subduing him. Lavawhip limped on his good foreleg, the pad of the other burned and cracking. Harshgale and the red drake, as well as the drakka, sniffed at the twisted bodies of Firelash and Solwing in misery, now mourning them in addition to Ranashe, Taraya, Habthea, and the underdeveloped hatchlings in the cave.

Emallagnia picked her head up to look past Wrathflame and the humans. "Venom and mayhem, is anyone else injured?"

"Come here, Lavawhip, I must look at your foreleg," said Varl. The red limped over and showed the human the extent of his injury. The digits at the end of his _sii_ twitched subtly and of their own accord, like the skin of a decaying corpse. "You must plunge this into cool water right away to halt any further nerve damage. _Cool,_ not cold, mind, or you'll shock the tissue and do more harm than good. Do that for a few minutes."

"Yes, sir," Lavawhip replied with a grimace, and took off to the nearest river; Shadowcatch went with him.

The dragonelle looked up. "He'll need something else to treat a burn, yes?"

"Indeed," Wrathflame replied. "I've seen dragons leave a burn untreated, either because they think they are minor or battle dictates they cannot be tended by a physician right away, and die within weeks because they contract some illness following the injury."

"And this salve does not prevent it?" she asked, flicking her tongue near a cut on his _sii_

"It isn't strong enough to do so."

"Oh," she replied gravely.

Varl was still giving direction and ignored the conversation. "Frostcrest, can you walk? Yes? Come over here, too, please. You two men; go into the compound and tell your comrades what happened, and get them to come up."

"We'll do it," Selianna and Dapheelia piped up.

"Thank you, girls. In that case," he said to each of the Guards as the drakka ran off, _"you_ can start stitching Wrathflame's wounds, and _you_ can help me with Emallagnia."

"But, I can wait," the dragonelle replied, slowly getting to her feet. Wrathflame half-roared and sidled anxiously. "Tend to Frostcrest first; he looks terrible."

* * *

><p>"He came <em>back?"<em> Natastach gasped.

"I didn't know Starlight had that much resilience," Beajara said.

"He did indeed," Varl replied as he checked Emallagnia's wound, now stitched closed and brushed with more healing salves. "Bristling as if he had not been hurt so badly and venom stronger than ever."

"Hmph, to think that I left," Ouistrela grumbled from her old perch in the breeding cavern. "I would have repaid him for his deeds, darkness keep him."

"_And_ saved those two drakes," Hatheela agreed.

"Better to avenge our sisters by raising healthy drakes and drakka of our own, and keeping darkness from our hearts," Saima countered. "We've three new clutches by Ouisa, Enia, and Hala (thank the Spirits she was not distressed!), and several more to come by the last few matings, if I'm any judge. We've all the more reason to overcome this." She looked over at the nearby perches, where Epinonia and Alhala dozed happily, curled around their eggs. Happy, because Varl and his assistants had taken a special torch and shone it behind each of the eggs in their clutches (Ouistrela's, too), and had only to remove one egg each from Epinonia's and Ouistrela's. Their eggs had been exposed to the heat from their flames in the cavern during the rebellion; those two had been destroyed outright as a result, but he had high hopes for the rest.

"The males fought well," Varl said, bringing the conversation back to the original point, "and those who would wish to avenge the Wyrmmaster know what happened, I'm sure. None will harm any dragon here."

"How do you know that?" asked Eszreethene.

"We moved Starlight's body to an open ledge on the side of the mountain facing the Inland Ocean and Juutfod. The drakes reported seeing dragons taking flight from there and observing us. They spent a great amount of time riding the updrafts and circling the body, much eaten by carrion birds already. The Wyrmmaster's body was moved there with him, too."

"In his chair?" Natasatch asked.

Varl smiled at her. "Oh, yes indeed, dragonelle."

She _prummed_ at that. _Wait until AuRon hears!_

"But if the Wyrmmaster still has followers who would spy on us," Eszreethene argued, "I do not want to stay here where I and my hatchlings can be killed easily." One or two of the other females rumbled in agreement.

"I think staying here would be most beneficial," Zeedasmene countered, "until the young ones are old enough to survive on one of the other islands or even on the mainland. We would work together to protect ourselves, and I'm sure the dragons will not leave right away. They've time to decide where they will go, and as isolated as we are here I doubt they'll have _much_ time to think." More rumbles of agreement to this point.

"Well, we should at least spread out on _this_ island, if that's the case," said Beajara. "With growing hatchlings, we'll need the space, anyway." She looked at Varl. "When can we do that?"

He considered it. Ouistrela, Epinonia, and Alhala had just clutched today—hard to believe—and their young would need a month in the shell to develop. Then they would have to stay until the hatchlings were strong enough to travel in this climate, depending of course where their mothers decided to move them, so that would probably mean they would wait until they were four or five months old. The eggs that had not been breached by Lear, numbering fifty in all, were divided among all of the remaining dragonelles; save for Natasatch who, having taken AuRon as her champion, had asked Saima to shelter her eggs in her place, to which the other female had happily agreed. In addition, Zeedsamene, Emallagnia, and Eszreethene were heavy with their own eggs from matings prior to the rebellion and would probably clutch within two weeks' time, at the most.

"Not for half a year, I should think," he said finally, "for those of you with eggs to be hatched."

As for the others? Saima, Beajara, and Zeedasmene had volunteered to raise the hatchlings and the drakes and drakka. Those that were fireless, the youngest clutch-mates two months old, numbered eighteen. Considering the loss of Firelash and Solwing, drakes of various ages numbered ten; drakka numbered sixteen after Taraya, Habthea, and Ranashe were killed. That gave each dragonelle roughly fifteen to protect, but it would be short-lived as the eldest were expected to leave rather quickly.

"Saima and Beajara can take to another cave sooner than that," Varl added. "The young are healthy enough, so it is a matter of building your own strength so you may take flight or what have you."

"But what are we to do about food?" Beajara asked. "We were not taught hunt-craft, so how can we teach our young?"

"We know a little," said Harshgale. "Firelash and Solwing knew a bit more, since they were older than us by a few weeks, but Pyrelight and I could help." Both he and the red drake were still brooding over the deaths of their friends. Saima had gladly taken them in when she had heard about their bravery against Starlight; even now they huddled against her belly like their younger siblings for comfort.

She _prummed_ softly and nuzzled their backs. "What knowledge you have shall be welcomed."

"We could ask the dragons, of course," Zeedasmene added.

"_Have_ you gone mad, female?" Ouistrela exclaimed.

"And just _what_ is wrong with the notion, I wonder. The young ones must know how to hunt—so must we, for that matter—and they know what they are doing. It is only practical."

"Caves and raves, what use are _they?_ They who sat oh-so-comfortably in their alcoves when they were not greeting the Sun while we rotted _here!_ Credit to our kind, indeed!"

"Keep a civil tongue, you!" the larger female roared. "You do not have to take to the skies with them at all. I said the drakes and drakka must _learn_ from them, nothing more. And you are one to speak in such a way, you who would accept a drake, up-and-coming replacements for those dragons, who would scorn their _elders!"_

"They did not escape punishment, Ouisa," said Hatheela. "I was told just as many dragons were killed and butchered for disobeying the humans as dragonelles."

"How many fighters sided with us, of the four-score that we have? Over thirty, I should think. Is that not enough?"

"That you would defend them so nauseates me," Ouistrela growled.

"Ire and fire! Without them you _would_ have ended like Nereeza!"


	3. Part Three

_Author's Note: I do not own the Age of Fire series—E.E. Knight does. This is a product of my ravings and obsession with dragons and their awesomeness, as well as the fact that I just finished reading_ Dragon Outcast _and_ Dragon Strike.

Flight of Sire and Dame: A Retelling

Part Three

"All right, all right, settle down," Zeedasmene said to the assembly of hatchlings, drakes, and drakka before her.

"Yes, let's all try to hear the lesson," added Saima.

It was an unusually warm and sunny day, perhaps because the Sun was happy to see her best creations at ease and free from their bonds. The dragonelles of the Isle of Ice, the same age as AuRon the Grey or thereabouts—and subsequently, the original females Wrimere the Wyrmmaster had purchased—had agreed to begin to teach the captive-born dragons all they remembered from their parents. If the weather was foul they stayed within the compound or learned to hunt with the males, as rain made for a delightful ally when stalking prey. And they would normally be hunting already on a clear day like today, but Zeedasmene had decided that a lesson outdoors would be a good change of scenery from the caverns. She and the other dragonelles had moved the younger dragons to one of the open meadows below the entrance of the compound and gathered around. Ouistrela, Alhala, and Epinonia's clutches were mere weeks away from hatching, Beajara's and Hatheela's clutches had broken shell early this morning, and Emallagnia had laid her clutch around that time, leaving all unable to attend.

No matter; Saima and Eszreethene were with her, and the older drakes and drakka could help when they could to help keep the young ones in line. For some, it was the first time they had been outside, and they naturally wanted to chase every buzzing creature that crossed their path.

"All right, is everyone here?" Zeedasmene, the designated teacher, asked.

"Yes," was the choral reply.

"Good, good, now then—"

"Hold a moment, Zeeda," Eszreethene said from her position against a sun-warmed rock. "The dragons are flying in from Juutfod early, it seems."

Several large shadows passed overhead and lingered while the males circled around to land, to the amazement of the younger dragons. They hardly saw them from day to day, and when they did it was always when they ventured into the caverns to bring food from the day's hunt if their older siblings could not carry it. Never had they seen them in their glory under the Sun. The eight dragons that had helped AuRon the most and had brought down Starlight made quite a picture as they alighted.

"Have you all come for the lesson, too?" Zeedasmene asked.

"Well, we thought taking the young ones hunting early would be a fine idea," said Hawkhit the Bronze, folding his wings, "but I think a lecture beforehand in the out-of-doors is equally fine an idea."

"It seems to me you have done much hunting already," the dragonelle replied, eyeing the elk Seecrest the Silver and Frostcrest the White had with them.

"There's a new herd of elk on the mainland. We brought these for the young ones so they can get a taste for the meat before we teach them to take a calf today," Seecrest replied.

"A calf?" one of the drakka chirped. "Elk are related to deer, are they not? Their young are called 'fawns' aren't they?"

"No, Femela," the dragon replied warmly. "When you speak of elk and moose, even though they are cousins of the deer, you speak of them as you would cattle."

"Oh?"

"Yes. I don't know why, really, but the men referred to them that way. I think it has to do with their weight." He _prummed_. "But it is good that you remember your lessons so well. You must always know your prey." Femela beamed at the praise. It was little surprise she and her sisters learned about game quickly. Dragonelles had long been the better hunters among dragon-kind, and they had already outpaced their brothers with little coaching.

Saima was _prumming,_ too, as Femela was one of her blooded daughters. Zeedasmene cleared her throat quietly to get their attention. "Knowing your prey is wise advice, indeed. I think the time AuRon spent in the Wyrmmaster's compound as a false-ally proves that concept. To know your prey is to know its habits and how it thinks, and knowing _this_ can grant you many opportunities for a kill.

"Just as you must know your prey, however, you must know those who would consider you _their_ prey—you must know your slayers. And there are seven I have in mind in that regard. I think your lesson today, young ones, will be a lesson of how the Slayers can prevail over even the best of dragons." She looked around. "Pyrelight, be so good as to recite the lines of the first slayer, please."

The red, perched upon Saima's back, cleared his throat and stood straighter, imitating the grown males (which earned several chuckles from them), and replied:

"First beware Pride, lest belief in one's might  
>Has you discount the foeman who is braving your sight."<p>

"That was very good, drake; not a word forgotten. Now, on this point I must say this: there is a vast difference between one's _pride_ and one's _honor._ Can anyone tell us what that is?"

"Oh, oh, I can!" a slightly younger drake named Lunelight replied excitedly.

"Go ahead."

"Pride is how you view yourself, and honor is the view others have of you."

Zeedasmene _prummed_ loudly at the silver. "Lunelight, that was expertly said! How did you come to know that?"

"Lord AuRon told me. Moonharvest and I asked him about the chain he had used to free the dragonelles." A white of the same age nodded in agreement, haunches dancing at the mention of his name. "He told us about the dwarf he had met and aided in his drakehood, who had given him the chain as a gift. He was Djer of…of…." He searched his memory for the rest of the title.

"Djer of the Diadem," Moonharvest replied for him. "He said Djer had been the one to teach him about pride and honor."

The other adults _prummed_ at their enthusiasm this time, louder even than Zeedasmene. "Very good, boys," she said, "but I will have to speak with AuRon—he's usurping my teaching position." (The adults laughed at this.) "Now, as our good drakes have said, Pride is the view you have of yourself, while Honor is that of others around you. Both are good to have, make no mistake, for if you have Pride in yourself you are likely to face your foes bravely, and not to succumb to Cowardice, when you most need your abilities to ward away one enemy and bar others from seeking you. And by gaining a reputation for bravery or wit, others will admire and emulate you, and willingly bestow you with honor.

"_However,_ young ones, many times a dragon can become _so_ engrossed in his own abilities that he has denied the reality that, sooner or later, he will face a foe who _can_ outwit him in battle. He might say to himself, 'I have defeated barbarians larger than he, faster than he, and have defeated armies many times more fierce than he, with only my claws and flame! What is _he_ to _me?'_ Then, that foe _will_ defeat him, because he was so full of Pride in himself that he boastfully disregarded his enemy, when he _should_ have kept a wary eye on him from the onset of battle.

'And long before he might fall in combat, were a dragon to become Prideful, he might boast to all his fellows about his quickness here or his flame there, so much so that they grow to spite and hate him for all his posturing. Then, a dragon has no Honor; what honor is to be had in pomposity and boasting? None.

"When others _tell_ a dragon they grant him no honor, and he recklessly quarrels and insists that he _does_—'I defeated so-and-so with my wit when we were but drakes, and well you know it!' he might say—then he _truly_ has no honor, for then you are no better than the hominids that stake their reputations on _one_ good act committed by their ancestors generations prior, as if that alone could atone for hundreds of other atrocities their kind have made since that time.

"A dragon such as that, young ones, is not one to emulate. Do not ever think Honor from others comes with your Pride; take Pride from your Honor and strive to maintain it. Then, you will be much besung."

"Beautifully said, Zeedasmene," Wavebreak the Blue said, thumping his tail.

"Thank you fighter," the dragonelle replied. "Are there any questions? Yes, Lunelight?"

The silver drake did not look quite as happy as he had before. "Was I wrong to be proud of my reply to your question, then?"

"Or I for being proud of Lord Seecrest's compliment?" Femela added, looking equally downcast.

"Certainly not, dears," Eszreethene said. "It is all right to have Pride in your knowledge of game or your memory; you are all young, and Pride grants confidence, which makes for a healthy mind. But you must be _careful._ Many a dragon or dragonelle has heard one too many compliments from others and become _over_confident."

Saima joined the conversation. "They know other dragons think highly of their hunting prowess and believe they know everything about every species that can be pursued, and then that one elk or one ox may come along, prove to be an exception, and escape you. The Prideful dragon, rather than accept the fact he did not win through his own fault, might blame the loss on something entirely different. 'The wind ruined it for me, you know, but otherwise I would've had it. I've never lost a kill before.' Tell that to enough of your fellows and soon the renown you had gained for your demeanor diminishes, and all you have is your Pride. Do you understand now?"

"Yes," the pair replied, though they still looked a little glum.

"Now, onto the next line," said Zeedasmene. "Dapheelia?"

The drakka held her head high, like her elegant teacher, and said:

"Never Envy other dragons their wealth, power, or home  
>For dark plots and plans will bring death to your own."<p>

"Very good. Now, as with Pride and Honor, there is a difference between Envy and Jealousy, and I must say that the line here is very much blurred. This, young ones, is perhaps more important than others.

"Envy is a dragon's overwhelming desire to have what another dragon has, as the song implies, and with such ill-will that he is driven to take it from him. He might say, 'I am every bit as good as so-and-so. Did we not both reduce that army's numbers to fractions of what they had been? Yet here I am in a smaller cave, with a smaller hoard, and lands more barren than his. I should have what he has! Am I not equal to him?' And instead of improving himself and earning what his fellow dragon has for himself, so that he might one day have an advantage, he simply decides to take it from him. He feels he deserves what the other has, if not _more_, and seeks to rip it away and add it to his own possessions. When he does this, however, he neglects what he _already_ has!

"Perhaps his cave was not as large as his comrade's, but he _had_ one until he abandoned it to make war and left it open to invaders. Perhaps his hoard was not as large as his friend's, but he _had_ one until he left and the invaders stole it from his cave. Perhaps his lands were not as bountiful as his ally's, but he _had_ land until he the invaders tramped through it and hunted all of his game on their way to his cave. And what happens to him when he returns, after the battle? He might be ambushed in his own home cave, because he is too busy feeling oh-so-proud of himself for besting his former friend. _That_ is the power Envy wields.

"Jealousy is another matter. It is a dragon's overwhelming desire to _keep_ what is his, or what he might _think_ is his, away from others' influence. Rather than wanting his fellow's cave, hoard, and pastures, he is convinced others are after whatever rock he rests upon, whatever coin he adds to his collection, and whatever fauna prances through his lands; the more they lay eyes on his possessions, the more they wish to take them from him. Perhaps a fine, shining dragon meets an equally lively flash of green to be his mate, or a dragonelle finds a brave, battle-tested warrior to be her champion; the jealous mate believes every other male or female is out whisk the other away.

"When one dragon is speaking to a beautiful dragonelle, let's say, and he asks, 'Flame and fame, what _is_ the matter? Are you jealous?' he does not mean to imply, 'Do you wish to have this female's attention simply because _I_ do, when you feel you are more deserving?' What he means is, 'Do you mean to keep this female shut away from others because you cannot stand to have her attention focused on anything but you?' Suddenly the mate is no longer a _dragon_ but an _object,_ like the cave, hoard, or land, and must be kept away from outsiders, at all costs. Complicated, I know, young ones, but nonetheless important for you to know.

"And I put it to you, drakes and drakka, that Envy and her cousin Jealousy might be related to another Slayer. What might that be?"

The young dragons thought hard for a few moments, and Zeedasmene shifted uncomfortably. She, like Eszreethene, was still heavy with eggs, and had been sore about the hindquarters of late.

"Is it Lust?" one of the drakka asked, to the approval of other males and females around her.

"Perhaps. Recite the line and explain, if you please."

"A Lust for…no, that isn't it…um…. Oh!

"A hot Lust for glory, gems, or mates  
>Leads reckless young drakes to the blackest of fates."<p>

The dragonelle chuckled amiably at the green, who, like Femela to Saima, was one of her older blooded daughters. "Good, now explain the line."

"I thought of Lust because you desire to add more to your collection."

"Hmm…you're onto something there, Rusila, but there is another Slayer—"

"Greed?" Harshgale offered.

"Exactly, drake," Zeedasmene said warmly. "Recite and explain, please."

"'Greed is good,' or so foolish dragons will say  
>"Until piles of treasure bring killing thieves where they lay.<p>

"I thought, if you were to gain enough gold or land that you think you have to always be on guard, even among your friends who have _no_ interest in your possessions, you might add so much to it that you might _actually_ have to guard it one day."

"Good, good, you've got it. If you Lust for gems, let's say, we mean you have an unhealthy need to be near the smell of them, to hear them clink together in your hoard or in your gullet, and that you have such a need for their satisfaction that you will do anything to acquire them in any amount—you will steal, duel, or manipulate to lay your _sii_ on them. Now, perhaps you manage to acquire a small amount of them for yourself; that is when Jealousy can strike, for you guard a mere _siifull_ of jewels as though you had a kingdom's worth of them to your name. Your Lust knows no bounds and what you have is not enough to satisfy you, so you go about acquiring more and more, and you Jealously guard your growing collection as you do, until you finally _do_ have a kingdom's worth of gems. _Still_ you want more. _That_ is Greed, a close friend of Lust, and others—perhaps _Envious_ of what must be a fortune—seek to _steal_ your gems from you, because, with all your guarding and hunting for more, they think, 'Surely, this is something I must have.' Therein lies the danger."

"Would Wrath be akin to Envy, then?" asked Harshgale.

She shifted her weight again. "It could, and your Pride, as well.

"Your Wrath shouldn't win, when spears strike your scale  
>Anger kills cunning, which you will need to prevail.<p>

"Perhaps your fellow dragon has all of the things we said before—a large cave, a glittering hoard, and plenty of food. You feel you deserve what he has. 'I should have _all_ of those things! Why is it he has done _as much_ as me, yet has more than I have? What trickery is that?' That is your Envy. 'No, I do not deserve what he has—I deserve that and _more!_ After all, _I_ was the one who defeated that army of men, and all on my own, not he! I am the quickest of claw and harshest of flame, and I can do what he _cannot!'_ There is your Pride.

"And so you fly off to your neighbor's territory and challenge him, based on what _you_ think is a grievous injustice, and in your Wrath and Pride you forget that your enemy is a capable fighter, as well, and he defeats you and wards you away in disgrace. Three Slayers, working together, cause you nothing but trouble, then." She flicked her tail-tip restlessly, which did not go unnoticed by Eszreethene. "Very good association, Harshgale."

"Thank you," the blue replied happily.

"Now what of the last two Slayers? What can we say of them? Selianna?"

"Erm…

"A dragon must rest, but Sloth you should dread  
>Else long years of napping let assassins to your bed<p>

"Hungry is your body, and at times you must feed  
>But Gluttony makes fat dragons, who can't fly at their need."<p>

"Very well recited, Selianna. Come, come, what can be said of Sloth and Gluttony?" She was even more uncomfortable now and wanted to go back to the cave.

"We shouldn't eat too much?" one of the youngest hatchlings peeped.

"Well, yes, but it isn't so simple," Zeedasmene chuckled. "Gluttony does not just refer to food. It means you can grow 'fat' by constantly feeding your Greed, say, in collecting coins and gems, and then being unable to leave your hoard behind because it is both _yours_ and just too large to carry with you. You would rather sit and stew among your hoard than leave it if you could escape easily."

"Oh," the little black said.

"And as for Sloth…. There is a phrase, 'To wake the sleeping giant.' You _never_ want to be that giant, young ones, never. It means you were asleep to the fact that an enemy plots against you, right until the moment he strikes. Remember Prymelete and the dragons of Silverhigh. They were so convinced that none would harm them that they did not watch the soothsayer closely, and allowed him the chance to take their dragonflame and give it to the hominids. They were not aware, as in sleep, of what the oracle planned, and were killed when they were caught unawares. Do you see?"

"Yes," they replied.

"Then heed this wisdom, young ones, and you will live long." She got to her feet, and shook herself. "I've left you with enough words to consider, so I think it is time to consider the coming hunt. Be off with you." Her _prumm_ was lost among excited chatter from the younger dragons as they ran to inspect the elk the fighters had brought.

Eszreethene joined her. "Zeeda, are you all right?"

"I'm fine, just restless. I always am before—"

"I know; I've been all atwitter since this morning."

"Dragon-dames and their influence—Agnia clutches and gets us going."

"Let's go, then. The urges are becoming rather insistent." They flew back to the entrance of the compound, as walking would not be fast enough. "I'm glad we were able to be in the Sun before our clutches came, this time. It's…as it should be."

* * *

><p>Curse her prolific clutching ability!<p>

Zeedasmene cracked an eye open and looked at the eggshelf, sighing as another burning wave coursed through her innards. Four pale eggs lay next to her, glistening softly in the dim light of the lanterns—unlike the five eggs she had adopted from the egg cavern—and more were on the way. She groaned inwardly. Though she and every other female quadruped were thankful they did not have to endure as painful an ordeal as female hominids when they gave birth, laying eggs was by no means pleasant. It was not as painful as a broken bone or a torn muscle, which were sharp, jabbing pains; it was rather like sluicing waste from one's tailvent, when one had eaten something that was, needless to say, disagreeable.

This had been going on for hours, however, since she and Eszreethene had left the young dragons to their hunting lesson with the males. Zeedasmene tended to lay more eggs than the average dragonelle—while another might lay four or five eggs, she would produce six or seven, and at a slower rate. She was alone in this, not because no other dragonelle had ever been afflicted this way, but because others like her in the compound had been among the first to tread upon their clutches when the egg-gatherers arrived.

And they had been the first to die at the hands of the Dragonguard for that very reason.

From the corner of her eye she saw Eszreethene rise with a low rumble, shift herself a little, and squat low over her clutch. That would be her fourth egg, she decided. They had come back to the cave together, but the other dragonelle had not actually begun to lay until a few hours ago. That was slow for her, she realized—normally she was finished in half that time.

_How are you doing, Zeeda?_ Emallagnia thought to her. Her perch was across the aisle and three away, near Hatheela's and Beajara's in the rear.

_Well enough._ Zeedasmene shifted her _saa_ under her; that last wave was rather insistent.

_How many have you put on the shelf?_

After a moment's pause: _Five, now._

_That's ten, if you count the eggs you've adopted. I wish I were so blessed._

_Do you? How many have you?_

_I've laid three of my own, so I have six all together._

_Six? What of the five from the cavern?_

_That man of AuRon's—Varl, I think his name is—checked them when the Dragonguards commented how light two of the eggs were. He checked with a torch and found they were false-eggs._

_Oh dear._

_He went around after that and checked so of the others' adoptive clutches. We're down to forty-one from the original fifty that came from the cavern. How many will remain wholesome and hatch remains to be seen._

_Spirits help us._

_Yes…. While you and the others were outside with the drakes and drakka, Theela, Enia, Hala, Bea, and I were talking—well, mind-speaking, so as not to disturb the new hatchlings._

_What about?_

_Well, when Bea's and Theela's clutches broke shell this morning—they didn't lose any, Spirits bless them—they were going to let the males fight at first…._

_And?_

_Enia and Hala said they shouldn't allow it and that the males should live, since the other males were kept alive._

_But that is our way; only the humans wanted them kept alive._

_I know, for their wars, but, that had nothing to do with it._

_What, then?_

_They said we should keep every hatchling live to make up for what the men did to us._

_What did Beajara and Hatheela do after that?_

_They stopped the males then and there, although Bea's little silver first-hatched son got nicked pretty well across the nose by the third-hatched. It's quite a sight—Bea has four males and one little female, and Theela has two males and two females. Such an amazing sight, really. _

_And where is Ouistrela in this?_

_She's going to keep the males alive, too, and work out how to name her own sons after Nereeza and Ktarata, if she can._

_Why bring all this up?_

_Agnia and I were just discussing what we would do ourselves,_ Eszreethene interjected.

_Eszree, thank the Spirits—you frightened me when you went silent. Have you finished clutching?_

_I think so. I count four of my own eggs plus the other five. Zeeda, what of you?_

_I'll be laying yet, I think. Rusila and the rest of my wards will have to stay with one of you._

_That's fine with us._

_Where are they anyway?_ Emallagnia thought. _Shouldn't the drakes and drakka be back from hunting by now? The Sun must be getting low in the sky._

_The dragons said they were going to the mainland to hunt elk today._

_What? Isn't that dangerous?_

_No,_ Eszreethene said. _The young ones are strong enough to cling to their fringes or ride in their _sii. _They should be fine._

_Oh._ She sounded doubtful.

_Anyway, Zeeda, what will you do when the hatching combat begins?_

Zeedasmene picked her head up and looked at her clutch again. She had not thought about it. She remembered her brothers' brawl when she was young—Mother had not let them kill each other outright, but the loser had not been granted the same amount of attention as the champion, or even the same first syllable as Father's. But the other females had stories of their brothers tearing each other apart, leaving only themselves and—maybe—a sister or two.

_I don't know,_ she thought.

_Neither do I,_ thought Eszreethene. _On the one _sii, _I would be glad to raise every hatchling I can, but on the other…well, Zeeda said it already._

_Well, I'm going to stop them,_ thought Emallagnia. _Maybe I won't in the next clutches to come, if I find a dragon to fly with me, but for this one I will. I want to see four gems looking back at me when the tapping has stopped. Don't either of you?_

_Well, of course, Agnia—_

_How long will the moment last before their little _prumms _turn to battle cries? How long will it be before the males are dead and their sisters are eating their carcasses? In only a few minutes you have only a fraction of your clutch._

_I still don't know._

Zeedasmene rumbled in discomfort, still trying to focus on the conversation.

She must have fallen into a doze at that point, for she woke to a warm nose rubbing against her own, and to the sound of hushed young voices. The drakes and drakka had come back from their hunt, it seemed. "Saima?" she muttered, thinking for a moment that the dragonelle-in-chief had gotten up to make rounds again.

"No," was the reply, in the deep melodious rumble of a dragon. "It's Lavawhip. I—I've come back with your young wards, but…." He trailed off and looked worriedly at the swollen, panting female. "I did not know you were still clutching."

Rusila stepped past the red and stood on her hind legs to reach her mother, _prumming_ softly. "Will you be all right?"

"Yes, dear," the dragonelle replied. "It isn't anything I won't overcome."

"The Sun is very low in the sky," Lavawhip said, "and I don't think we're in for a storm of any kind. I could take the young ones for an astrology lesson, if you wish."

"Could you? I would like that, and they could have fun with that lesson."

"But, Mother," a drake—one of her own, according to the Wyrmmaster's records—protested, "we want to stay here!"

"Now, now, Fareye, none of that. You'll have plenty of time to worry about a belabored dragonelle. Your mother with be all right, I assure you," the red replied.

_Crude way to put it, but he's right,_ Zeedasmene thought to herself.

"What goes on here?" Saima asked tightly. Femela, Pyrelight, and Harshgale gathered around her. "Lavawhip, what are you doing in this dragonelle's alcove? Do you not see she is in no condition to have visitors?"

"Stand down, Saima," she panted. "He was just suggesting that he give the young ones a star lesson. Perhaps the others might like to join them."

Her scales flattened and she sniffed at the fighter. "I see. Well, it can't be for long. The young ones need sleep."

"It wouldn't be," the red replied quietly. "It would just be a basic lesson. And not all of them have to learn right now, if they don't want to. We could always catch them up to the others."

"…I suppose it's all right." Saima backed out of the alcove and cleared her throat. "Sisters, this fighter has had an idea."

"Has he?" Ouistrela asked from her perch. "And what was that?"

"He would like to take Zeeda's drakes and drakka outside for one last lesson for the day."

"A lesson? Now?" Beajara asked. Her new hatchlings yawned and looked at the adults blearily.

"What lesson can they learn now?" Hatheela added.

"One about the stars, presumably for navigation, yes?"

"That's right," Lavawhip replied.

"Can we, Momma?" one of Hatheela's sons chirped, hopping excitedly.

"Us, too?" asked Beajara's only daughter.

"We want see stars," added her silver brother.

"From pictures," said the third-hatched male, a stocky blue.

Beajara shared a warm and amused glance with Hatheela. "You remember my mind-pictures, do you?"

"Yes, Momma!" the second- and fourth-hatched males said, swishing their tales wildly.

"But isn't it rather late?" Hatheela asked.

"No lesson can come too late, except in life, Theela." She left the perch, stiffly, and urged her happy new clutch to climb onto her head and hang onto her frill. "Shall we?"

Saima looked down at Femela. "Go rouse your siblings and have them join us outside." Her daughter gladly went off to complete their errand while Pyrelight and Harshgale babbled excitedly to their guardian about Susiron and Euphrosyne and constellations, much to the dragonelle's amusement. Hatheela followed slowly, balancing her brood on her head.

Lavawhip looked at Zeedasmene. "Rusila can stay with you. I'm sure Fareye can teach her later on."

"No, fighter, she should learn the lesson from you." Rusila drooped sadly. "Go on, now. You can tell me all about it in the morning." She tried to make the drakka happier. "I'll need a break from teaching, I think."

"Yes, Mother," the green replied, dropping back to all fours. Fareye tried to raise his sister's spirits as she led the brood outside.

"I'll make sure to bring them back in a reasonable amount of time, Zeedasmene." He backed away as she suddenly got to her feet to deposit her sixth egg onto the shelf. He _prummed_ to her as she settled herself and sampled the air around her. "Zeedasmene?"

She opened a bleary silver-blue eye at him. "I'm all right."

"Have you finished clutching, then? Do you want anything? Food, water perhaps?" He looked at the trickle in her alcove; it was too far for a tired dragonelle to reach, he thought. "There are water basins in the humans' quarters I can bring—"

"Do stop fretting," she groused. "You've drakes and drakka to teach."

The red stiffened at her tone, but ventured to step closer to her and rub his nose against hers, and nuzzled her pulse-point behind her jaw. With sheathed claws he walked out of her alcove.

_Lavawhip?_

He turned back. "Yes?"

_Thank you._

* * *

><p>"Now this one is Susiron," Hawkhit the Bronze said, pointing at the glittering star within the Bowing Dragon formation of stars with his snout.<p>

"Fwich one?" Hatheela's first-hatched asked from atop his head.

"This one, right off the tip of my nose." He laughed as the little gold scrabbled over his crest and sat splayed across his nose, one _sii_ and _saa_ hanging over his lips.

"Amselan, don't do that!" his mother exclaimed.

"The blue one?" the hatchling asked, ignoring her in his interest.

"Yes, the really large blue one," Suntail the Gold, who had also joined in on the lesson, answered for him.

"Who Susiron?" one of his sisters asked.

"Who _was_ he? Hmm, that I don't know. Perhaps AuRon would. Why do you ask?"

"All th' over stars name after someone," Beajara's silver first-hatched son replied. "Was Susiron?"

"I don't know that, I'm afraid. Now that big red one over here, at the head of the Maiden, is Euphrosyne."

Amselan carefully shimmied himself around to look Hawkhit in the eye. "She was famous?"

"Oh, yes. I remember the story well," the bronze replied.

"Tell, tell, tell!" the newest hatchlings cried excitedly, while their older siblings turned and beamed at him eagerly.

"All right, all right, but it's the last story for tonight." Hawkhit extended his muzzle toward Hatheela's neck, and Amselan quickly joined his clutch-mates on her back and looked up at him. "The red star you see, as Suntail said, is named Euphrosyne, after the brave Maiden who defended her family at the cost of her own life. It is always a few points east of Susiron—know that well, young ones—and marks the point in her constellation where her head is, where a mind so clear once worked.

"Long ago, during the fall of Silverhigh, when the relatives of its inhabitants heard the destruction Prymelete had incited and rushed to the once glorious palace in droves to avenge their deaths, there was a young dragonelle named Euphrosyne, just fledged, I'm told, who wished to know what had become of her siblings and cousins, who had not left the palace when she did. With her were three other females of her age and some half-score of dragons. They flew for days until they saw the glow of Silverhigh in the distance, and they decided to alight and creep upon the place by land, lest they be struck down by the armies of the hominids Prymelete had brought with him."

By this point, Hatheela's and Beajara's hatchlings were yawning and fighting the urge to sleep. (Amselan, who had insisted on hearing the story in the first place, had already drifted off.) Even the older dragons were getting sleepy.

Suntail now took up the story. "One night, after the dragons had spent the days drawing closer and fighting bands of hominids in the forests, they encamped near a river, under heavy tree-cover. Euphrosyne and one of the other dragonelles decided to go hunting on their own, to bring down an elk or some other night-creature for themselves and the others for an early breakfast. They followed the scent of elk to a gorge overlooking a small lake, thinking of the feasting to be had, but to their horror they did not find elk at the lake but men.

"'Tricks and traitors, Euphro, we'll be spotted!' her friend said.

"'Quick, let us run before they or their dogs notice us.'

"It was no use, though—the men had laid a trap for them. Those at the lake's edge feigning sleep took up their weapons and rounded on them, and others, allied elves, snuck up behind them. Euphrosyne knew her friend was a faster flyer than she, and told her to leave as she bit and slashed at her foes.

"The dragonelle burst through the line of elves and flew as fast as she could to their friends near the river. She nearly lost her way and had to wing her way back, and when she trumpeted her warning to wake the other dragons she was beside herself with worry. 'Euphro is under siege! Euphro is besieged!' she cried, to the others' bemusement, and it was only after a great deal of coaxing that she was able to tell them what had happened.

"Euphrosyne's beloved, a Silver not unlike the stone of faraway Silverhigh, immediately followed the dragonelle to the lake. The hominids were vanquished, but at the cost of Euphrosyne's wings, once so admired by her beloved, now ruined. He wanted to tend to her, to lie next to her until she could move again, but she told him to fly to the palace and avenge her and their relations.

"'Go, my love, and strike them down. Two for my wings, one for each slash of sword in my hide, and many more for all the hatchlings I cannot give you. I'll never fly, never give any male your line's name. Now go, avenge the life they took from us,' said she.

"So he went, alone, forgoing their plan and flying straight for Silverhigh. Their friends arrived at the lake long afterwards, near dawn. Most went to join her Silver Champion, but others stayed with her to heal her wounds with dwarf's-beard as best they could. Then, she told them her plan to follow her love to the palace and aid him, if not avenge his death. So they walked to the palace and climbed the mountain to the summit, where the palace stood. They fought hominids all along the way, and Euphrosyne was even more hurt, but she would not be deterred, and she pushed forward."

"Meanwhile," said Hawkhit, "her Champion and his comrades lay in what had been a grand hall in the palace, bleeding, battered, and miserable. A knight, not unlike Eliam, stood over one of them, ready to drive a lance into his belly, when Euphrosyne burst through the tattered curtains, even more bedraggled than they.

"'What is this?' the knight scoffed. 'A worn, beaten female? You've a cut to your chest and no fire, I'll wager, and no wings. I've my health and weapons to kill you.'

"'My love, please stand down!' the Silver begged, eying her fresh wounds and pale gums.

"'_You,'_ Euphrosyne snarled, 'are _you_, you worthless piece of flesh, worth even less than what sluices from my _tailvent,_ the one who ambushed me? Are _you_ the one who had my wings taken and my hopes of damehood with them?'

"'I'm sure I don't know why you suspect me, but I do not care. All the less dragons on the earth and in the skies, and all for the better, I say.'

"'What was taken from _you_ that you would cry joy at such a thing? Your mate?'

"'Silence, you!'

"'Or perhaps some filthy creature you liked to rut when you were away fighting and murdering? _I cry havoc, assassin!'_

"The knight, incensed by her words—probably because they were true—lunged for her, and cut her about the abdomen, neck, and _saa,_ to the wails of despair from her Champion. She lay on the cold ground, seemingly vanquished, as the others did. The knight moved in to kill her. Her Champion roared his fury and rose to his feet just as he plunged his lance into her chest, through her greater heart. While he cackled, she took her last breath and set him ablaze—her fire had not been lost to her at all.

"Her Champion roared his despair to the Spirits, of his lost love who had leashed her flame until most needed, and never left her side, even after her body had been consumed by the elements, and guarded her tomb until his own death. The Moon had witnessed all that has happened to the Sun's creations, and, as ruler of the night as his sister ruled the day, gave such a brave maiden a place in his sky, and one to her love, as well. The Maiden, Euphrosyne, is forever with her beloved, the Silver Champion, JooNin."

The drakes and drakka yawned widely. Rusila stretched where she stood next to Lavawhip and asked, "What became of their friends, Lord Hawkhit?"

"Some say the song of the dragonelles originated from this time, when you sing of the dragon who will win your mating flight and, moreover, of the wrath of a dragon-dame. They were inspired by the pair and always fought as they had from that night on, especially when hatchlings were involved."

"Where is _his_ star?"

"That's another lesson for another night," Suntail said. "Off you go to your shelves, now. We've kept you from sleep long enough."

"He's right," said Saima. "Off you go." She gently nudged one of Beajara's sons back onto a partially unfolded wing, as he had begun to slide off in his sleep. Then she turned to Lavawhip. "I'll take them back to Zeeda, fighter. It was good of you to look after them for now—I'll be sure to tell our new dragon-dame of your kindness."

"Thank you, Saima, but I will do that myself, if you don't mind." He rose from the dead tree against which he had reclined, resettling his wings and uncurling his tail. Only Rusila and Fareye were still awake—the others had dozed off long ago after they had climbed onto the red's back. "There's no need to wake them."

Saima _prummed_ at the sight. "Very well, fighter." She turned away with her brood in tow.

"You were very quiet during the lesson, Lavawhip," Hawkhit said. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm well. I was just…distracted."

"What by?" The red looked over his shoulder at the mouth of the cave. "Is it Zeedasmene?"

He looked back at the two dragons. "Will you two be at Juutfod?" he asked, ignoring the question. Most of the unhurt fighters had retreated to the town after the rebellion a few weeks ago, although some, Lavawhip among them, stayed on the Isle in different caves.

"Erm, well, yes. Why do you ask?"

"No reason. I'll meet you for the morning hunt." He got to his feet carefully. "Pleasant dreams, brothers."

* * *

><p>Zeedasmene woke from a fitful doze, aware that the breeding cavern was much darker than it had been, and of a dark shape below her shelf. She raised her head with a start. "What—"<p>

_It's me, Zeedasmene,_ Lavawhip thought.

She focused on him—or tried to—and on his amber eyes, dully lit by the lanterns in the cavern. _What are you doing here?_

_I brought the young ones back, but you slept uncomfortably, so I stayed with them. They were a bit downcast that they could not sleep next to you, now that you've clutched._ He looked her over. _How do you feel?_

_Uneasy._

_Why? Do you smell danger?_ he though in alarm, half rising.

_No, no, no danger. It's…the uneasiness a dragonelle experiences with these matters._ She slowly picked her head up and looked at herself in the gloom. _Oh, Spirits…._

_What is it?_ He watched as she lapped at some sort of gruel in a bowl next to the shelf. When she had taken it all, she settled down and sighed. _Why do you have that?_

_A dragonelle has to try to stay awake when clutching, otherwise the process could stop. That mix helps._

_Oh._ How terrible, he thought privately. _Well, how long—_

_It acts quickly enough,_ she cut in, already shifting her weight uncomfortably.

She began to pant again, and he could offer little help beyond a gentle _prumm_ and a tongue-flick here and there. Then she stood to drop the egg, but did not squat right away. _The clutch…where is it? The lanterns have dimmed—_

Actually, they had not, but her night-vision had probably been diminished from the strain. Lavawhip extended his wing to block the sleeping brood from the heat and glow of a _torf,_ hastily coughed up near the base of the shelf. His wing leather suffered from its effects, but he could care less at the moment. _There you are._

_Oh…thank you, Lavawhip._ She stepped carefully over the other eggs, lowered her back end, and let her seventh for the night join the others. But, she noticed it was smaller than the rest, and it had not landed solidly. It was probably a false-egg, filled only with a yolk and a white and no dragon. _Oh—_

_I'll take it,_ the red said, over-reading her though of burning it. He thought of dropping it on the smoldering _torf_, but it might create a foul odor in the cavern, so he decided to burn it outside. First, though, he took several mouthfuls of water and quenched the _torf,_ lest a drake or drakka roll onto it in their sleep, thinking its warmth to be their mother's belly.

He completed his task under Zeedasmene's weary eye, and returned as silently as any dragonelle on the prowl, claws sheathed. _How do you feel now?_

_Much better, thank you,_ she thought back. _Lavawhip—_

_Sleep now, dragon-dame._

_But, Lavawhip, hear me. You needn't do this._

_Perhaps not, but I've gotten this far._ He sniffed at the brood below the shelf, then tentatively at the new clutch and the dragonelle. He lingered near her head, flicking his tongue.

_What is burnt?_ she thought, sniffing the air, and then him. _Your wing! What's happened? Elk can't spout flames, can they?_

_It's nothing but a bit of damage. 'Means nothing._

_Was that from your _torf? _How?_ She looked at her wards below her and then at him. _You protected the young ones, didn't you?_

'_No need for them to be singed._ She half rose to inspect the spot and licked at it gently, but he pushed her away with his nose. _You don't worry about me, dragon-dame. I'll be fine._

She got to her feet anyway, shakily, and turned her nudge into a full neck-embrace, full of deep _prumms_ and nuzzles. _Fret over me as you will, fighter, _after _I lay on my other side—my right _sii _and_ saa _have gone numb._

She made a quick turn on her hind legs and settled her left side against the cave wall, curling her tail around the eggs. _Are you sure you don't want to ease your wing?_

_Sleep now._ Rather than take up his previous position, curled around her brood with his back to the alcove's entrance, he lay parallel to one of the alcove walls, with his head near hers on the shelf. She touched noses with him, and his scales bristled as the skin underneath tingled from nose-tip to tail-tip and back again.

_Sleep will come hard. Now that my clutch is laid, I am not so drained._

_Perhaps I'll tell you about the Maiden and the Champion._

_About who?_

_Perhaps you know it as Euphrosyne and JooNin._

_Oh yes, I do remember that one. That was the story the young ones heard?_

_It was._

_How do you remember it?_

_The men name those stars—well, all of them—something else, with their own stories, and I questioned them one day during a navigation lesson._

_And?_

_I'll never forget the tail-swipes the older drakes gave me for it, or the stories. Hatheela's little firebrand, Amselan, insisted that we do. I just wish I could give them mind-pictures of it._

She laid her head on the rock, next to his. _You did. I can over-read their dreams as we think._

_Can you?_

_Yes, but yours are much more clear, since you're awake. Euphrosyne looks like me, I think, at least from head to the base of the neck. The trickle does not show me much of a reflection of myself._

Lavawhip rubbed his nose against hers, as she laid her tail on his haunch. _Shall I tell you, then?_

_I'd rather a start in navigation._

_All right. Well, you know of the four cardinal points—north, south, east, and west—and of the four ordinal points—northeast, northwest, southeast, and southwest. The hominids consider these eight directions together to be the eight 'principal winds.' There are also eight half-winds and sixteen quarter-winds—yes, that's right, they have more winds to worry about…._


End file.
